Five years ago, before the divorce, I had been working on a compliance project for Blake’s company.

I had been given administrator access to a secure, archived server that housed internal communications.

When Blake and I split, I never deleted the local backup keys.

I had been too hurt to look at them, too eager to erase everything about that life.

“Sarah,” I said, my voice dropping. “Do you remember the texts?”

“The ones that allegedly proved you were having an affair?” Sarah asked. “The ones Blake found on his phone?”

“Yes,” I said.

Those texts had been the final blow to our marriage.

They were sent from my number to a male colleague, full of intimate details I had never written.

Blake had believed them.

I had spent five years believing my phone had been hacked, or that Blake had set me up to get a quick divorce.

“What about them?” Sarah asked.

“Helena was the one who presented them to Blake’s lawyers,” I said.

“If she fabricated them, that’s fraud,” Sarah said. “But how do you prove it now?”